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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681826">School Days</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinaling/pseuds/Rinaling'>Rinaling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, B), Bad Parenting, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Clay | Dream &amp; Technoblade Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Dissociation, Good Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, I'm having way too much fun with this, Just water that is all, Not me torturing the green man again lol, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), The Author Regrets Nothing, This is a wild ride holy shit, Water</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:08:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,871</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29681826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinaling/pseuds/Rinaling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can come over today, if you want.” </p><p>There it is. Techno asked him the same question every day, worded differently, but always the same. It’s his way of asking if Dream’s okay, a silent message that he understands but knows that Dream will push him away if he asks if he’s okay. Dream understands the undertones of the question. <i>I know you’re hurting, let me help.</i> </p><p>And like always, he answers the same way.</p><p>“Maybe tomorrow.”</p><p>Or, me making a green man sadder than he needs to be</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Technoblade &amp; Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream &amp; Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>747</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So like- idrk what i was thinking when I wrote this, or how much I'll do with it, but im actually rather proud of it so probably expect more?</p><p>Anyways, as always, beta read by Reddie_Bubb, and enjoy</p><p>TW for depressive thoughts and <i> minor </i> self harm (All he rlly does is jam a pencil in his thumb)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’s blood on his sleeve. He can’t bring himself to care. He hasn’t had the motivation to care about much of anything these past few months. His hair is greasy and matted, and he knows there are bruises under his eyes, and his clothes hang off his once fit frame. He still can’t care. He doesn’t really know when things got bad. Was it when his parents finally returned home, after months of leaving him alone without a word, reeking of alcohol and something stronger? Or was it when he got into the fight with Sapnap and George, spitting vitriol he didn’t mean, rendering him friendless save for one? It doesn’t matter anymore, not really. He’s gotten used to it. The hatred spilling from whiskey-stained lips. The rocks of insults hurled towards him by people he used to call friends. </p><p>But then there’s Techno. The one who, for some reason, doesn’t hate him. His anchor, his wall, protecting him from his personal Hell. His friend. He doesn’t know why the other hasn’t left, hasn’t deemed him useless and a burden like everyone else had. If anything, the pinkette tries to keep him alive harder than he tries himself. Brings him lunch because he knows the blonde won’t eat on his own, bandages his wounds behind the school with no questions, just soft reassurances. Techno is one thing he will never understand. He doesn’t get why he tries so hard. Doesn’t he know that he’s a lost cause?</p><p>A shout brings him back to himself, and he looks up from where he had been scribbling on his paper, dull eyes meeting the annoyed teacher’s. </p><p>“Mr. Wastaken, if you’re not going to pay attention in my class, then I suggest you leave.” </p><p>There are snickers from behind him, and he doesn’t have to turn to know who it is. He hates this class. The teacher seems to hold a personal grudge against him, only fueled by the ridicule of his peers. </p><p>“Are you done, Clay?”</p><p>A pencil snaps. He called him Clay. No one called him Clay. That name wasn’t even on his school records. He had changed it to Dream years ago. So how the <b>fuck</b> did this old bastard figure it out? He looked down, one point of the broken pencil was digging into his thumb, blood pooling onto the wood, staining it red. The room was silent, and he could feel the eyes boring into him. He stands, hooking his bag over one shoulder. He’s kept his face neutral this entire time, but when he faces the teacher he lets a bit of anger show in his eyes, satisfied when the man takes a half-step back. He walks past the desks, pausing as he rests his hand on the classroom door handle. He turns, locking eyes with his teacher.</p><p>“For the record, asshole, this is a sh*t class anyways.” </p><p>Delight fills him at the furious look on his teacher’s face, and he leaves, the sound of the teacher cursing his name echoing behind him. He walks towards one of the school exits, pushing the door open and squinting at the sun. The tree on the hill is waiting for him, as it always is. He shrugs off his bag, leaning against the tree and shutting his eyes. </p><p>A body plops down next to him exactly 17 minutes later, close enough that he can feel their warmth. He opens his hand and brings the food placed in it to his mouth, eyes opening in surprise at what it is. He turns his head and is met with a sheepish smile. </p><p>“A muffin?” He questions the pinkette, taking another bite. </p><p>“I got it from Puffy. She was insistent I give it to you.” The other answers, handing him a bottle of water. </p><p>He hums, wrapping the rest of the muffin in its lining. Techno doesn’t insist he eat more, so he thinks it’s okay. They lapse into a comfortable silence, broken only when Techno speaks.</p><p>“You can come over today, if you want.” </p><p>There it is. Techno asked him the same question every day, worded differently, but always the same. It’s his way of asking if Dream’s okay, a silent message that he understands but knows that Dream will push him away if he asks if he’s okay. Dream understands the undertones of the question. <i>I know you’re hurting, let me help.</i> </p><p>And like always, he answers the same way.</p><p>“Maybe tomorrow.”</p><p>Techno sighs, and reaches out, taking one of Dream’s hands in his. He traces the scars crisscrossing the back of it quietly. He’s never asked where they came from. Dream thinks today’s the day he tells him.<br/>
“I got a bottle smashed on my hand.” </p><p>Techno whips his head around so fast he nearly gets whiplash. “What?”</p><p>“The scars. The ones on the back of my hand are from a glass bottle, from when me and a couple of friends were screwing around.” Who the friends are is left unsaid. </p><p>Techno’s silent for a minute, staring at his hand like it’ll break. “Interesting.”</p><p>“Interesting.” Dream repeats.</p><p>“Yes, interesting!” Techno says again. “I didn’t know that.”</p><p>“Of course you didn’t! I just told you!”</p><p>Techno groans, pushing him. “You’re such an ass.” </p><p>“You know you love me.” Dream flutters his eyelids, making an obnoxious kissy face. </p><p>“Only in your dreams.” </p><p>Dream blows a raspberry, crossing his arms and pouting. “You’re a meanie.”</p><p>Techno laughs.</p><p>They fall into a fit of banter, and Dream finds himself more willing to participate in their conversation than usual. Maybe it’s because he walked out in the middle of class, and it gave him a burst of confidence. It doesn’t matter though. Techno seems happy that he’s talking, and that’s enough. Eventually, though, he has to go, and he bids the pinkette a quiet goodbye before starting the walk to where he lived. </p><p>---</p><p>The first thing he noticed when he stepped through the door was that it reeked of alcohol. Which, within itself, wasn’t that out of the ordinary, his parents were hardcore alcoholics. But the stench hit him full force the minute he opened his front door, and that meant they had company. They were in the kitchen, judging from the sound of bottles clinking and boisterous laughter. He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and walked in.</p><p>The stench was so much worse at the source. Bottles of beer littered the ground, a few broken, shards of glass sticking out haphazardly. A game of poker was in progress. </p><p>“Hey Dream. How was school?” That wasn’t his father’s voice. Or his mother’s. Which meant-</p><p>“Hi, Schlatt. School was good.”</p><p>Schlatt. He was a close friend of his parents, showing up every party night without fail. It was after the first few times he watched Dream pick up the mess while everyone was passed out that he stayed a little less drunk. He was always the soberest, willing to help before he too conked out for the night. The man also asked Dream about his day, every time they met. He wasn’t a bad guy, even if he was a drunk. </p><p>Today, it looked like there wasn’t a drop of alcohol in his system. “C’mere kid. I wanna talk to you about somethin’.”</p><p>The man stood, beckoning for Dream to follow. He did, even if he was a bit nervous. Schlatt had never asked to speak to him privately, opting to keep their conversations dancing on the line of family friend and parental figure. They stopped in the hallway leading to the bathroom.</p><p>“Your pa got a call from the school today.” </p><p>Dream cringed. If his parents looked the way they did now, he can’t imagine how that conversation went. </p><p>“I took the call.”</p><p>What? He-?</p><p>“You walked out in the middle of class today? Your teacher seemed pissed.” </p><p>“Yeah. Bitch called me Clay.” He spat, eyebrows furrowing again as another rush of anger washed over him. Still annoyed. Still pissed. </p><p>“He called you...Clay?” Schlatt questioned. </p><p>He sighed. “Clay. Was my name before Dream. Hate it, holds bad memories. I don’t know how that fire-hydrant-looking ass even knew it, considering I haven’t used it for years.”</p><p>He watched Schlatt’s hands balled into fists, face contorting into a mix of unreadable expressions. It wasn’t the alcohol, running his emotions rampant. He was genuinely upset. Dream wasn't expecting it. </p><p>“That bastard. Do you need me to teach him a lesson? Show him what I did in 1999?” </p><p>“S’fine Schlatt, really.” He reassures, trying to calm down the increasingly angry man. “I can handle it.” </p><p>Schlatt sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright. Fine. I trust you kid.” He moves past Dream, towards the kitchen. “But if you ever need help, you know where to find me.” </p><p> </p><p>Hours later, when it’s finally quiet, Dream goes downstairs and is met with a surprise. The mess has been cleaned up, and Schlatt is gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>That awkward moment when u realize it's been two weeks since you've touched your fic</p>
<p>i tried to get this done sooner but my brain decided to spill 2k more words than i originally planned and left me to pick out what was readable for days</p>
<p>also this switches from past and present tense way too much idek what happened</p>
<p>we got more dadschlatt tho so that's cool</p>
<p>also tw for abuse and dissociation(?) [I've never dissociated before so sincere apologies if I do something wrong regarding it]</p>
<p>enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke up cold. It wasn't all that surprising, to be honest. His house rarely had any form of heat, and when it did, it was directed to his parent's bedroom. He told himself he didn't mind it. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel the phantom warmth in his chest at the thought of a normal life. He refuses to acknowledge the number of times he's come up with his ideal fantasy, of sober parents who loved him, blankets thicker than his walls, and friends who never betrayed him. It was a world he often indulged himself in, whenever everything became too much. Though sometimes it within itself suffered the same consequence, the perfection overwhelming both his waking and sleeping hours, and he'd shut down. He hated his shutdowns. He hated how much more often they were plaguing him.</p>
<p>He gripped his blanket tighter, attempting to find the motivation to get up. Exhaustion was a losing battle he fought all the time, limbs feeling like lead every time he tried to get up or move. The constant onslaught of his brain attacking itself from different directions, a quickfire stream of his Perfect World thoughts, paired with the sludge of tired ticks poking at his mind was a war he'd been fighting for a long time, knowing he was doomed to fail. </p>
<p>Christ, he was depressing as shit in the morning. </p>
<p>He released the blanket, dragging himself off the bed and onto shaky legs. A quick morning routine in autopilot and he was back on the edge of his mattress, staring at his phone. It was early, too early to start his walk to school. A snap of noise from outside had him jumping, turning to stare out a window covered in water, a steady drum of rain pounding on the roof. Great. He looked down at his phone as it buzzed. A picture from George and Sapnap.</p>
<p>His hoodie. The charms he'd made them both. On fire. Captioned.<br/><i>We had a great time last night.</i></p>
<p>What the fuck. </p>
<p>He groaned, dropping his phone and putting his head in his hands. He's barely been awake an hour and he already wants to go back to sleep. Another buzz. Despite the urge to leave it unchecked, he looks down and is met with a series of messages from an unknown number.</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Ayyy</i>
  <br/>
  <i>This Big D?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Got ur number from Blade</i>
  <br/>
  <i>contact was Smiley so its gotta be u</i>
</p>
<p>Big D? And Blade had to mean Techno. He grinned a little as he realized who it was.</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Hello child</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown</b>
  <br/>
  <i>WHAT THE FUCK</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I AM NOT A CHILD YOU BITCH I AM A MAN</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>You're definitely a child.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown</b>
  <br/>
  <i>FUCK YOU</i>
  <br/>
  <i>You must be Dream you're just as annoying as Techno</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>The one and lonely</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown</b>
  <br/>
  <i>wow youre sad</i>
  <br/>
  <i>okay phils calling me bye big d</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>bye Tommy</i>
</p>
<p>He saved the number. <b>Unknown -&gt; Feral Child.</b></p>
<p>A shit morning saved by a child. What a twist. He stood as a bang nearly shook the house. His parents were awake then. And here he was hoping he'd leave before their hungover asses got up. Curse the kid and his time-consuming conversation. Maybe though, they'd be so out of it he'd be able to sneak away before they acknowledged his presence. </p>
<p>"Clay! Get your ass down here!"</p>
<p>Why was luck never on his side? </p>
<p>He put his phone in his bag. If this morning went the way he went, he didn't need it breaking on him. It was colder outside his room, frigid air settling deep in his bones. He wasn't sure if it was fear or the cold raising his goosebumps, and he decided he didn't want to know. The stairs creaked with every step, a quiet voice of his cry for help. Of course, it was left unanswered. He gripped his backpack strap tighter, bracing himself as he turned the corner into the gazes of his parents. </p>
<p>His father was always something to look at. Platinum blonde locks, a shaved face with the day's stubble peeking through. He was considerably taller than Dream, stronger, too. His sober face always resembled that of an angry gorilla, serious and observant. His drunk face wasn't all that different, honestly. Laxer, eyes wider and mouth slack. If he was going to get specific, he supposes the faces did have their differences. One was a gorilla, one a fish. He had a few names for the varying sides of his father. Silverback, Barracuda, among others. Though he'd never voice them out loud. To do so would mean an abrupt end to his pitiful existence. As much as he wanted to die, he'd never let himself fall at the hands of something as embarrassing as that. If he was going early, it would be by his hand, and his hand only.</p>
<p>His mother was both the same and different case. Short brown hair, cactus green eyes that bore into his soul every time he screwed up. She was smaller, face thick with makeup. Her sober face was possibly worse than her drunk one, all fake sweet smiles, and sharp stares. Drunk face consisted of blown-out eyes, red lips wrapped around a bottle of liquor. He had no special names for her, because every version was equally as disgusting as the last. She never dirtied her hands, opting to allow her partner to lay his hands on her son, watching from the sidelines while shrieking out obscenities.</p>
<p>The stinging was sudden, unexpected. Though it wasn't painful. He'd felt the palm of that hand many times over, the burning slowly fading into something numb. But it was strange. They at least yelled first. Why was today any different?</p>
<p>"You walked out of class." It's not a question.</p>
<p>Oh. So that's why. But Schlatt answered the call, how did they know about it? Maybe an email?</p>
<p>His father approached him, eyes fiery with red hot rage, lips pulled back in a sneer. It was the angriest he'd seen him in a while. He raised his hand, curling it into a fist.</p>
<p><i>Oh fuck you're gonna die it's gonna hurt so bad don't cry keep your head up you're gonna die</i> <b>FUCK-</b></p>
<p>He almost felt the crack of bone. The non-existent snap of agony from deep within. But every bone remained firmly in place, sturdy and whole. They would never hurt him bad enough he'd need to be hospitalized, never risk getting caught. They may be stupid, but they weren't idiots. His mind blanked as he was hit again, pain sparking with the contact that quickly dulled into an aching throb. </p>
<p>They were much more "hit now scream later" than usual. And it seemed, after one more punch to his poor jaw, that they were approaching the screaming phase.</p>
<p>"Do you know how embarrassing you are?! What the fuck is wrong with you, disrespecting your teacher like that?!" His father spat, nearly shaking with fury.</p>
<p>
  <i>Here it comes.</i>
</p>
<p>"You're such a disappointment!" </p>
<p>
  <i>Disappointment. And I'm a-</i>
</p>
<p>"Freak!"</p>
<p>
  <i>I'm a freak.</i>
</p>
<p>"Just get out. Go to school. And don't do that shit again, or you won't like what'll happen." His mother, now. </p>
<p>He nodded, walking past his parents and out the door. The tap of his sneakers was a constant as he sunk into his thoughts, the rain pattering on his hood.</p>
<p>
  <i>The hell was that? How'd they know? Did Schlatt tell them? No, he wouldn't. Right? He likes me, I think. He cares. Dunno why. He's pretty similar to Techno in that regard. They both care for me more than they should. Question is why, though? Think about it, Dream. Think. How do they act? Techno's quite neutral when it comes to anyone but me, I've seen that loud and clear. So I'm an outlier in that regard. And Schlatt, he's an alcoholic, but stays sober for me. Why's that? Shit, this is hard.</i>
</p>
<p>He shouted an apology as he swerved out of the way of a jogger, not realizing how lost he'd gotten in his mind. <i>Why the hell was that guy jogging in the rain?</i> That bid well for the rest of today. The school loomed in front of him, discolored brick and dirty glass windows. A prison hiding behind education. It was time to serve his sentence.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>His day was, unsurprisingly, incredibly uneventful. Every class was as repetitive as the last, mind-numbing lessons boring into his brain. He didn't have a single class with Techno today, no opportunity to relieve himself of the boredom. And, because he was the most goddamn luckiest person on the planet, he had every single class with George and Sapnap. His one saving grace was the fact that he didn't have Fire hydrant's class. During the lessons he was forced to attend, his mind wandered, Perfect World thoughts tickling the back of his brain. But he couldn’t let himself indulge in the fantasy. If how his day had gone so far was anything to go by, swimming in the nonsensical would shut him down. And he didn’t know if he’d come back. </p>
<p>His last class bell goes off and he stands, leaving the classroom as fast as possible. It was always stuffy, the mix of students and teachers’ breath mingling in the air like some sort of shitty wind. Bodies pressed against each other as everyone tried to leave, completely uncaring of anyone they crushed in their haste. He noticed the eyes staring at him, the whispers that followed him as he walked. </p>
<p>
  <i>He walked out of class.</i>
</p>
<p>So what?</p>
<p>
  <i>Apparently he did some fucked up shit to Davidson’s stuff.</i>
</p>
<p>He didn’t.</p>
<p>
  <i>Him and Techno? There’s no way the smartest kid would be friends with him. There must be something going on.</i>
</p>
<p>Nothing is going on.</p>
<p>
  <i>I bet he pays for their friendship.</i>
</p>
<p>No, he doesn’t.</p>
<p>
  <i>Maybe they get up in each other’s business.</i>
</p>
<p>He walked faster. </p>
<p>The rain had somewhat slowed, the sun peeking out between ashy clouds. Water dripping off the leaves of his tree, splashing onto the ground below. The grass was only slightly damp under his ass, enough that it would get wet, but wouldn’t soak into his pants. A little water wouldn’t hurt him. </p>
<p>Techno had an extra class today, French, so he’d be later than usual. He closed his eyes, relaxing as the rough bark dug into his back. It probably shouldn’t have been as calming as it was. The moment was too great to not give in to his fantasies, and he indulged himself in Perfect World, only for a minute.</p>
<p><i>He woke up warm. Thick blankets tucked up to his chest, light filtering into his room. It was quiet, the smell of bacon creeping in through his open door, the sound of the TV accompanying it. It was peaceful. Calm.</i> </p>
<p>
  <i>He sat up, blankets falling onto the mattress as he shifted his legs, standing up with a small crack. There was a buzz from his phone, a good morning message not from George and Sapnap like he’d expected, but from Techno. He sent a reply before starting his morning routine. Shower, brush his teeth, change (A green hoodie and black jeans), scroll through Twitter until he had to go downstairs. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Dream!” He couldn’t tell which parent’s voice it was. “Come down for breakfast!”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He stood, pocketing his phone and slinging his bag over one shoulder. The stairs were silent as he walked down them, the sound of a sports announcer growing louder as he made his way downstairs. Bacon was sizzling in the kitchen. They were both by the oven, his father’s arm wrapped around his mother’s waist as she made the food. They turned when he stepped in, gazing at him with loving eyes.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Morning, Dream." His mother detached herself from her partner's arms, handing him a plate. "Here's your breakfast."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The porcelain was piled with scrambled eggs and bacon. He sat down, digging in. Every piece of bacon was crispy, warm and crunchy. The eggs were cooked to perfection, cheesy and well seasoned. Mother always made amazing food. </i>
</p>
<p><i>He was done in minutes, putting his plate in the sink and bidding goodbye to his parents. He deliberately ignored the dark look that passed over their faces as he passed. </i><br/>-<br/><i>George and Sapnap met him at the school entrance. He pretended to miss the glint in their eyes as they walked into the building. </i></p>
<p>
  <i>They made idle conversation during class, tuning out the teacher who hardly cared if they learned anything anyways. There was a prickling feeling crawling across the back of his neck, like a centipede was making a steady march towards his ear and into his brain, leaving seeds o f unease wherever it touched. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>A chill ran through the air, making him shudder despite his hoodie. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Dream?” George, no, this wasn’t George, not the real one, or Perfect World. This was something else. Something darker. “Are you alright?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He didn’t realize the classroom was empty until he heard the door slam. Not-Sapnap turned to face him, locking the door with a click. “You’re looking a little pale, dude.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He stood, backing away as they moved closer. His breath picked up, and he gripped his chest as his back hit the wall.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“C’mon Dream, tell us what’s wrong.” Not-George insisted, reaching out a hand to touch his arm. He flinched back, crying out when his head hit the wall. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>His eyes widened in fear as his not-friends got closer, arms and arms and hands and hands, pushing and pulling and touching. It was too much, too much, too much. He cried out again, thrashing around and trying to get away. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Dream?”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He felt tears running down his cheeks, incapable to do anything as they gripped him tighter. Every point of contact stabbed needles into his skin, pads of their fingertips leaving burning sensations everywhere they touched. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Dream.”</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He let out a sob, shaking. Why was this happening to him? it was supposed to be his Perfect World. Whywhywhywhywhy</i>
  <b>WHY-</b>
</p>
<p>“Dream!” </p>
<p>He gasped, blinking rapidly as worried red eyes and a mess of pink hair obstructed his vision. </p>
<p>“Dream?” </p>
<p>Techno. It was Techno. Why was he here? And why was he cold? Wasn’t he in the classroom just moments ago? Why did Techno look so concerned? What happened?</p>
<p>He felt a tear drip down his cheek. </p>
<p>“Dream? You here?” Techno’s voice was soft, quiet. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “Okay. Okay, good. What the hell happened?”</p>
<p>This time he shook his head. Techno couldn’t know. </p>
<p>“Alright, you don’t have to tell me. That’s fine. But you can’t stay here, it’s raining, and I don’t trust you at home right now.” Techno looked panicked. </p>
<p>He blinked back tears, reaching a shaking hand into his pocket and pulling out his phone. “Schlatt.” He croaked.</p>
<p>“Schlatt?”</p>
<p>He unlocked the phone, managing to pull up his contacts and shove the device into Techno’s hands before curling his knees to his chest. “Schlatt.”</p>
<p>He zoned out as Techno fiddled with his phone, mind swirling with questions. What happened? Why did it happen? Is this his fault? Why did he think Perfect World was a good idea? Now Techno’s going to know and is gonna leave. Is Schlatt really going to come? He always said he’d help Dream but would he even want to while he shut down? He’s so tired. He just wants to sleep. </p>
<p>He unregistered the arrival of another person until a gruff voice addressed him. </p>
<p>“Kid?” </p>
<p>Dream looked up, meeting eyes with a pair of brown ones. </p>
<p>“Schlatt?” It hurt his voice.</p>
<p>“Christ, kid. Fuck happened?” He turned to Techno. </p>
<p>“He was out of it when I got here. His eyes were glazed over and he was crying, and he didn’t respond to me until I touched him.” </p>
<p>A pair of hands lifted him to his feet. He thinks it's Schlatt, if the musky scent of the body he's leaned against is anything to go by. Techno might've said something as they moved towards Schlatt's car. He can't tell. There's water rushing in his ears, blocking out any sound. </p>
<p>This sucks.</p>
<p>He barely realizes that Schlatt's sat him in the passenger seat of the car, moving to the driver's seat. He rests his cheek against the window, glass cold against his skin. It's grounding. </p>
<p>Music plays quietly from the radio, a song he doesn't recognize. Schlatt drives slow, apologizing whenever they go over a particularly large bump. It's weird, seeing this side of the man. Of course, he'd never been anything but kind to Dream, but this was different. It crossed the parental figure line by a mile. He doesn't think he'd mind Schlatt as his dad.</p>
<p>
  <i>Where the hell did that come from?</i>
</p>
<p>It was a thought produced by his exhausted brain. That was all. He shut his eyes. He needed a nap.<br/>---<br/>He woke up on a couch. And it wasn't his. </p>
<p>He panicked for a minute before realizing where he was. Still, he made no move to get up. He didn't know if he could, honestly. His limbs feel like lead weighing him down, eyelids threatening to close again. </p>
<p>Sleep would have dragged him down if not for the man walking into the living room. </p>
<p>“Morning, Sunshine.” Schlatt greeted, bottle of water in his hand.</p>
<p>He managed to sit up enough to drink it, not realizing how thirsty he was until it was empty. </p>
<p>"You alright?" The man asks, sitting on the edge of the couch.</p>
<p>
  <i>Yes. </i>
</p>
<p>"No." His voice is croaky. Ragged. </p>
<p>Schlatt pats his calf through the blanket. "Want to talk about it?"</p>
<p>
  <i>No.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Please.</i>
</p>
<p>"Yeah." He brings his knees to his chest, making room.</p>
<p>
  <i>Please.</i>
</p>
<p>Schlatt sits back against the armrest and faces him, eyes gentle and caring. "Whenever you're ready."</p>
<p>
  <i>I'm not. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Please. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Don't tell him. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I can't tell him.</i>
</p>
<p>He takes a deep breath, and starts from the beginning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>dadschlattdadschlattdadschlatt</p>
<p>yes i will do more just give me time</p>
<p>maybe comment what u wanna see next?? I need ideas lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this one isn't beta-read it might be horrible</p>
<p>Also i kind of hate this chapter haha</p>
<p>i promise the next one will be better?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How long have you known my parents again?” Because really, he doesn’t know. He’s only aware that they’ve been friends for as long as he can remember, Schlatt just as much of a constant in his life as his parents.</p>
<p>“Oh, uh, I don’t know, 20 years or something? I knew them in high school, if that helps.” Schlatt answers. He’s honest, and he’s staring at Dream, waiting for him to continue.</p>
<p>“Alright, so you know a shit ton about them then, I guess. I said I’d start from the beginning, and I will, but you gotta promise not to tell anyone else about this.” He’s serious. If Schlatt doesn’t swear to secrecy, he’ll up and leave right now.</p>
<p>“I swear I won’t tell, kid. Snitches get stitches, and I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t ask about the implications behind the question. He’s gotten Schlatt’s promise, and he’s ready to start. He won’t tell him everything, obviously. But he’d learn enough. “So. If I’m gonna start from the very beginning, that would be maybe around 9. As you probably know, my parents weren’t always alcoholics, they were actually really fucking nice up to this point. That is, until nan died, and the miscarriage and dad being laid off, and I guess it just became too much for them.” He brings his knees up to his chest. He’s just started, and he already wants to stop. He wonders if Schlatt would be disappointed if he did.</p>
<p>“They started drinking. It wasn’t so bad at first. Then something kinda, snapped in them, and they completely lost it. They drank every night, leaving me to fend for myself. I was 13 when they left.” He lets a bit of anger seep into his voice at this. The fact that his parents made him fend for himself when he was barely a teenager, forcing him to learn of different ways to earn money. Stealing. Lying. It was their fault. “I dunno if it counts as child abandonment, because they came back 4 years later, but whatever.” He knows he’s leaving out important information. What happened before they left. During the time he was alone. What’s happening now. Red on pale skin flashes in his mind. But he stays silent. He’s already told the man enough, even if it wasn’t much. “That’s uh, that’s it.”</p>
<p>Schlatt nods, obviously not believing him but thankfully not pushing it. There’s a buzz from the table by the couch, and he turns, noticing his phone lighting up. Schlatt stands with a chuckle.</p>
<p>“Go ahead and talk to your friend, he seemed pretty worried yesterday.” And he leaves.</p>
<p>Dream grabs his phone and unlocks it, slightly surprised at the amount of messages.</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Tell me when you’re okay, Smiley</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Been a few hours<br/>Just checking in</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Dammit im just as clingy as tommy</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon has attached an image</b>
  <br/>
  <i>This fucker looks like u</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Wtf is wrong with u i don’t look like the fucking yellow m&amp;m</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Ur blond</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Thats like our only similarity u piglin ass bitch</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Jokes on u piglins rule</i>
</p>
<p>He lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh at Techno’s next message.</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon has attached an image</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Why.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>You would look good in it</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Im not wearing a fucking m&amp;m costume</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Fair enough<br/>So<br/>Not to barge but r u actually ok<br/>U kinda freaked out last time i saw u it was worrying</i>
</p>
<p>He considers his next words very carefully.</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Yea im ok dw<br/>Just had a bit of a freak out ig</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Makes sense<br/>Im here if u wanna talk yk</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Ik</i>
</p>
<p>And then, a few seconds later.</p>
<p>
  <i>Thank u</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Bacon</b>
  <br/>
  <i>No problem, Smiley</i>
</p>
<p>Schlatt walks back in holding a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. “Hey kid, figured you’d want a change of clothes for school considering you literally dragged those through the dirt.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t I go home?” He curses internally. That sounded so ungrateful.</p>
<p>“Nah you’re fine. I talked to your pa, and he doesn’t seem like he’ll notice you’re gone for a while.”</p>
<p>It’s bitter, the way that stings. Because they don’t really care, do they? They haven’t for a long time. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does.</p>
<p>He accepts the clothes wordlessly, moving to where Schlatt pointed out the bathroom. The jeans fit well, and the hoodie, though a little big, is soft and comfortable, the logo of a school he didn’t recognize on the front. The sleeves fall to his elbows when he stretches, and he stares at his wrist. Stares at the tattoo. He got it when he was too exhausted to think, after a stressful night with Sapnap and George, when George said he knew a guy who knew a guy. The ink is black, and the design is simple. He feels like clawing it off with his nails. It’s a smile. That’s all it is. A simple smiley face, drawn onto the inside of his wrist. Just like the mask he used to wear. When he…</p>
<p>He yanks the sleeves down and steps out of the bathroom. Schlatt’s already got his shoes on and is waiting by the door, staring at his phone intently. Was it time to go already?</p>
<p>He’s mostly silent for the car ride, save for when Schlatt says “You can call me if you need to again, kid.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>
  <i>I’ll be fine.</i>
</p>
<p>-<br/>He is, surprisingly, very much fine. His whole day is, not normal, because whatever fucked version of reality he lives in is very much not normal, but it’s the same. Nothing special happens, and, because of the week he’s had, that within itself feels like an accomplishment. He has two classes with Techno, and even if they don’t get the opportunity to speak, the glances they shoot each other is enough. </p>
<p>At some point during the day, he gets a message and is able to look away long enough to read it. </p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>BIG D I NEED YOUR HELP</i>
</p>
<p>He asks to go to the bathroom. </p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>What’s wrong</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>WILBUR IS GONNA KILL ME</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Ok 1. Aren’t u supposed to be in class rn. And 2. Why r u coming to me instead of ur brother.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>I CANT GO TO TECHNO HE WILL HELP WILBUR</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Jfc<br/>What did u do</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>I INSUTLED HIS GUAITR</i>
</p>
<p>Well, Tommy’s dead. Techno’s told him how much Wilbur loves his guitar, he’s basically signed himself a death sentence.</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Lol gl with that</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>BIG D HELP ME PLEASE</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Whatever<br/>Add me and him to a gc or smthn ig</i>
</p>
<p>Techno’s sibling is worse than he is, honestly.</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child has created a group<br/>Added Me<br/>Added Unknown</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Tommy.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>AYYY WILBUR MY FRIEND<br/>BIG D HERE HAS SOMETHING TO SAY</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Big D?<br/>You mean Dream, the guy Techno talks about?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>That would be me, yes</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Incoming call…</b>
</p>
<p>“Tommy.” He whispers furiously as soon as he picks up. “I’m in school!”</p>
<p>Tommy doesn’t seem to care, and promptly ignores him. “Wilbur! Big D here has something to say so you won’t kill me!”</p>
<p>There’s a huff that Dream assumes can only be Wilbur, and he says in a voice that he hopes portrays he would rather do anything else “Wilbur, please don’t kill Tommy.”</p>
<p>Wilbur barks out a laugh. “And why shouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>He looks down at the buzz.</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Tell him u will go on a date with him<br/>Hes been obsessed with meeting u ever since blade first brought u up</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Thats a little creepy ngl<br/>Also why should i</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Feral Child</b>
  <br/>
  <i>I’ll owe u one</i>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>Fine.</i>
</p>
<p>He sighs. “Wilbur, if you promise to not kill Tommy i will go on a date with you.”</p>
<p>There’s a gasp, and he can’t possibly believe one guy could be this enamored with the idea of meeting him. What had Techno been saying about him?</p>
<p>“Would you really? Honestly? If you promise I will leave Tommy alone I swear.” Wilbur’s talking fast, and Dream nearly misses it.</p>
<p>“Christ, dude. I’ll go on a date with you. Pizza Hut around 3?”</p>
<p>His phone screams, and Wilbur’s shouting his thank you’s and promises to leave Tommy alone. Once again, he sighs and disconnects the call. </p>
<p>
  <i>What the hell did I just do?</i>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>The look on Techno’s face when he meets him by the tree is anything but reassuring. If he has to guess, the gremlin has let his brother know what is going on, and Techno doesn’t feel an ounce of pity for him. </p>
<p>He is, of course, correct, and is suddenly re-evaluating his friend choices as Techno laughs at him for the 5th minute straight. </p>
<p>“I get it! I’m going on a <i>platonic</i> date with your estranged brother!” He huffed, crossing his arms with a pout.</p>
<p>Techno wiped his eyes. “Estranged? Smiley, you’ll be lucky if he isn’t proposing to you by the end of the night.” </p>
<p>Dream groaned. “Great.”</p>
<p>Techno laughed again, offering his constant question, this time dressed up in “You could come over after your date.”</p>
<p>The question brings him back to himself, and he realizes quite suddenly that this isn’t any other kid going on a date, it’s him, which might actually be a bit self absorbed, but who would actually want to go anywhere with <i>him</i>? It’s not Wilbur asking to go on a date because he wanted to, it’s Dream asking to save Tommy. And he knows, of course he knows, that Wilbur does genuinely want to meet him, but will he change his mind after he does? </p>
<p>Techno poked his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I can’t. I have to go home right after.” There’s some truth to that, at least. </p>
<p>His friend shrugs. “Fair enough. You’d better get going if you don’t want to be late.”</p>
<p>Dream jolts, grabbing his phone to check the time. “Already?!” Sure enough, it’s already 2:50. </p>
<p>He bids a quick goodbye to Techno and grabs his bag, nearly running towards the pizza place. As much as he’s dreading the date, it’d be much worse if he was late. Was Techno serious about the marriage thing? He doesn’t know how he’d react if it was. Christ, he hopes Wilbur doesn’t do anything drastic. It’s just a simple meetup.</p>
<p>He’s gonna kill Tommy. </p>
<p>There’s a slight chill in the air, and he’s grateful for the hoodie he’s been provided. The Hut isn’t far from his school, and it’s a typical hang out for when school’s let out, so he isn’t surprised at the crowd. It’s always busy here. He takes out his phone, noting Wilbur’s number from the group chat. Dream hasn’t added him to his contacts, so he does it quickly before messaging him.</p>
<p>
  <b>Unknown -&gt; Guitar Boy</b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <br/>
  <i>I’m here, where are u?<br/>Its dream btw</i>
</p>
<p>“Right behind you, doll.” A voice drawls from behind him.</p>
<p>He most certainly does not let out an unmanly squeak. He does <i>not</i>.</p>
<p>“Christ, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” He manages to get out in between Wilbur’s laughs. </p>
<p>Wilbur’s taller than him, and seems older, about a year or two older than Techno. He’s got on a beanie and a yellow hoodie, and in his hand he’s holding a little white plush. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Dream. But the opportunity was just too perfect to miss!” Wilbur exclaimed after recovering. “Are you alright, though? I’d hardly like to give you a heart attack as a first impression.” </p>
<p>“I’m okay, don’t worry.” He reassured. For all that Techno said Wilbur was insane, he seemed pretty fine, if his initial reaction was anything to go by. “What’s that thing in your hands?” He gestured to the white plush.</p>
<p>“Oh! It’s for you!” Wilbur handed it to him, nearly vibrating with excitement.</p>
<p>The plush was soft, and the build, simple. A blob. It was the design that had him staring. A smile. Just a smile. Identical to the one on his wrist. The same as the one plastered on his mask. He felt something flicker in him, a buried flame sparking to life. </p>
<p>“Thank you, I love it.” He gave the other a smile. </p>
<p>Wilbur grinned, moving towards him for a hug, stopping when he flinched back. Fuck. </p>
<p>“Sorry, you moved kinda fast.” He tightened his grip on the plush, hoping the other wouldn’t question him further. </p>
<p>Wilbur just shrugged. “Fair enough. Now let’s stop standing around, I’m hungry.” He walked past Dream, weaving through the after school crowd and holding the door open. Dream put his gift in the front pocket of his bag, making sure it wouldn’t get dirty. </p>
<p>“Such a gentleman.” He giggled as he entered The Hut. </p>
<p>Wilbur placed a hand on his arm before he could place an order. “Why don’t you grab a seat, I’ll order. What kind of pizza do you want?”</p>
<p>“Hawaiian, please?” </p>
<p>Wilbur nodded, and Dream grabbed a seat as far from everyone else. </p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“I cannot believe you like <i>pineapple</i> on pizza!” Wilbur exclaimed through his second piece. </p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry Mr Pepperoni, at least I have some taste! Pepperoni is so bland!” Dream retorted, picking another pineapple off of his first slice. </p>
<p>“Pepperoni is a normal topping! Pineapple on pizza is a crime, honestly. I don’t know how you maniacs enjoy it.” </p>
<p>“Maniacs?! And here I was thinking you were better than what Techno said!” Dream grinned, watching the annoyance spread over Wilbur’s face.</p>
<p>“Techno doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. I’m a great person.” </p>
<p>“Wanna talk, Dream shrine?” </p>
<p>He wheezed at the other’s horrified expression.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>“Thanks for this, Wilbur. I had a really great time.” It was the most he’d enjoyed himself in a long time.</p>
<p>“Of course! It was really lovely meeting you.” Wilbur said with a smile. </p>
<p>For all his brother’s warning about him being insane, Wilbur seems quite normal.</p>
<p>Wilbur’s on his knee, tying the lace of his sneaker. “Will you-” He starts before Dream cuts him off.</p>
<p>“If you ask me to marry you, I'm gonna fucking lose it.” He deadpans. </p>
<p>Wilbur stares for a moment, for two, and a laugh bubbles from his chest and out of his mouth, and it doesn’t take long before he’s nearly rolling with laughter. It’s only a minute and then Dream loses it too, lungs constricting in a familiar way as he wheezed. </p>
<p>They calm down minutes later, wiping tears from their eyes. It shouldn’t have been as funny as it was, but it’d been a long time since Dream had had a good laugh, and judging by how hard the other laughed, it was the same for Wilbur.</p>
<p>“I-I was gonna ask if you’d let me walk you home.” Wilbur told him once he’d composed himself enough to speak.</p>
<p>The fact that he has to return home sends a spike of disappointment through his happy mood. He’s quick to diminish it, Schlatt said they wouldn’t notice he was gone. Dream was genuinely happy right now, and he was gonna fucking enjoy it.</p>
<p>He still wouldn’t let Wilbur know where he lived, though.</p>
<p>“Sorry, but I think I’m gonna go alone.”</p>
<p>“I can’t blame you for that, I suppose. You did just meet me, even if you’re my brother’s best friend.” Wilbur says with a nod. “I had a great time, truly. I’d love to do it again some time.” The beanie-clad man holds out a hand. </p>
<p>Dream shakes it with a smile. “Of course. I’ll have to show you why pineapple on pizza is amazing.” </p>
<p>“I’ll believe that when Techno flies.” He grins, starting to walk backwards. </p>
<p>“I’m gonna hold you to that.” And Dream turns, starting the trek back to his home.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>There’s light filtering through the window, and he doesn’t know if they’re sober, or if they just forgot to turn them off. He hopes for the first. </p>
<p>He pulls out his keys, inserting the green one into the keyhole and twisting it. The knob clicks, door creaking open quietly. He steps in, and the house is silent. It’s odd. The house is never silent, whether it be his parents drunkenly arguing, or them hurling insults at him. There’s always some sort of noise. </p>
<p>He barely hears the scream when he turns, watching blankly as the bottle is hurled towards his head, and his world goes dark.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ha...aha...</p>
<p>for clarification of ages<br/>Dream - 17<br/>Techno - 17 (But older by half a year)<br/>Wilbur- 19<br/>Tommy - 15<br/>Schlatt - 38</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this chapter is basically a filler haha, it's explaining a lot of things i've mentioned<br/>And it's shorter than usual, sorry about that</p>
<p>Beta read by Reddie_Bubb, as per usual</p>
<p>For the sake of my sanity, present time is in italics and normal text is flashbacks/the past</p>
<p>I've got a discord server now! </p>
<p>https://discord.gg/tv32jtJc5q</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><i>He blinks blearily. He’s on his back. The floor is hard and the light hurts his eyes. They fall shut again.</i> <br/>-<br/>He watches as his family falls apart. The bubble of happiness that’d had been consuming him entire life, popped. He remembers the casket that held his nan, the young teen filing the grief away as his first true despair. Little did he know of the many more soon to join.</p>
<p>He watches as his father comes home after work, carrying the remnants of the job he’d worked his life for. He remembers the shouts that night, the way his father’s voice broke when he screamed, leading to sobs of the truth. He was meant to be asleep, not supposed to hear. But he did. And somewhere, deep inside him, he knew things would never be the same.</p>
<p>He watches as the bump on his mother’s belly is gone, and along with it, the last shred of hope for his family. The alcohol comes out when they come home from the hospital, glass clinking together. He remembers walking down the stairs timidly, after the screams had died down. His mother was slumped over the kitchen table, an empty bottle of whiskey loose in her hold. His father was still awake, rage still evident within every fiber of his being, only fueled by the alcohol in his system. The man had to get his rage out, and he was the only one in the vicinity. He watches as the hand connects with his cheek, and his world disappears.<br/>-<br/><i>He’s in pain. Every part of him aches, throbbing with red-hot agony. He’s still on the floor, loose boards digging into his back. The light is blinding. He fades back into slumber. </i><br/>-<br/>He knows it’s his fault. They tell it to him all the time. He knows he is their greatest mistake, their biggest disappointment. After a while, it stops affecting him. He takes in the insults numbly, letting them sink into a mindset he’s already familiar with. His father is quick to let his anger out on him, palms connecting with skin in places that won’t show. There’s the time where the man loses himself completely, so intent on causing hurt that he doesn’t think. The cut going across his nose stings, glass still dripping in his blood. It’s his fault.</p>
<p>It’s not long before they leave, forcing him to grow up too quickly. They leave on the promise to return one day, and that they expect the house to stay tidy. In the time they’re gone, he never pays the bills, and at first he let himself believe it was because they still cared, but he soon realized it was to keep up appearances. </p>
<p>He’s a fast learner, and is quick to figure out the easiest ways to make money for groceries. He knows how oblivious people can get once in conversation, how easy it is to slip a wallet from them while talking. He gets odd jobs from around town, a dog walk here, a mowing of a lawn there. There’s a lot of times in the beginning  where he can’t earn enough money, and he needs to swipe things from a store. It’s too easy, really. He’s young enough to look like a kid after school, and that’s when he goes, near when the actual kids get out, a bag on his back. He swipes the essentials into his bag, purchasing a snack to sell his appearance. It always works.</p>
<p>It’s only late at night, when he’s burrowed under his blankets, does he let himself feel the guilt. <br/>-<br/><i>There’s a voice trying to talk over the cotton in his ears, and he’s vaguely aware of a pair of hands lifting him off the ground, curling him in their arms. He’s dragged back into the dark.</i><br/>-<br/>He meets Sapnap in the middle of the night, the noirette hanging off of the monkey bars at a playground. Dream had gone there to calm down, not expecting another person to be there, let alone someone his age. The boy is quick to climb down and meet him with a gap-toothed grin, loudly shouting hello’s in a Texan drawl. They become friends easily, learning that they had a lot in common and similar interests. It’s late, so they depart with promises to meet each other the next day.</p>
<p>Sapnap brings another kid with him this time, and introduces him as George. He learns that they both went to the middle school in town. The lie that slips from his tongue isn’t difficult to produce when they ask why they’ve never seen him before, a false truth that he’d just moved. He talks with the boys every day in the same spot, occasionally venturing to convenience stores and even their houses. They never go to his.</p>
<p>It’s when he’s meant to be a freshman that he realizes he has to go. It might be stupid, but he missed learning things that weren’t illegal. He missed numbers, history, science. He enrolls two weeks into freshman year, keeping ahead of lessons and falling in step with George and Sapnap like he’d been there the whole time.</p>
<p>He meets Techno the same year, quickly forming a friendly rivalry, constantly battling for top spot in their classes. </p>
<p>He meets other people too, even if they aren’t as close. Bad, a junior, who’s impossibly nice and hates swearing, using “muffin” as an alternative. Skeppy, Bad’s best friend, who loved to run Bad’s perfect reputation through the mud by dragging him along with his pranks. Puffy, who named herself his mother. Punz, also a junior, who will do anything you ask him to for the right price. </p>
<p>He learns and learns and holds as much information as he can, keeping up with his studies, upkeeping the house, and getting money for food. He progresses and makes it through his freshman year, his junior.</p>
<p>His parents return at the beginning of his sophomore year.<br/>-<br/><i>There’s something soft under him now, vibrations quietly rumbling in his body. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, and he tastes copper. He’s pulled back under.</i><br/>-<br/>He remembers how their argument started. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. Him, George, and Sapnap had been playing in a hardcore world in the computer room of their school, and he had accidentally killed George. The brit had shouted and screamed, mock crying about his lost life. He remembers Sapnap logging off after picking up the items, standing and patting George on the back with a solemn face. </p>
<p>He remembers wheezing at their faces, and calling George a baby. George had gone deathly serious, face suddenly a mask. He had reached to unclasp his own mask, a possession he’d owned for a long time. It held importance to him just like Sapnap’s headband, George’s goggles. They never asked about it, so he never asked about theirs. </p>
<p>He blinked a few times at the change in light. He didn’t know why his comment got to George so badly, or why Sapnap knew and he didn’t. They were friends. George would’ve told him if something like that bothered him. </p>
<p>George was closer now, shaking and looking up at him. Dream was considerably taller than the other male, but he felt tiny at the anger and hatred burning in his friend’s eyes. </p>
<p>“Don’t fucking call me that.” George had spat, glaring at him so harshly he took a step back. </p>
<p>“What’d I do? Why are you upset?” Dream asked timidly. What had he done wrong?</p>
<p>“C’mon dude, just apologize and we can move on.” Sapnap chimed in, a hand on George’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“But why? All I did was call him a baby, because he was being one!” </p>
<p>“Just shut up!” George screamed, moving forwards and pushing Dream back. “Don’t call me that!” </p>
<p>“What the fuck, George?!” Dream shouted back. Why the hell did he push him?! “What’s wrong with you?!”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing wrong with him!” Sapnap had interjected, growing just as angry as them. “Don’t say that!”</p>
<p>“What the fuck is going on? Why are you guys freaking out?!” Because even though he was upset, he wanted to know why they were too.</p>
<p>George turned from him. “I don’t think I can look at you right now.” </p>
<p>“You’re overreacting.” </p>
<p>Wrong thing to say.</p>
<p>George whirled to face him again. “Oh, I’m overreacting?! At least I’m not the one who thinks he’s better than everyone else! You’re always flaunting around thinking you’re the shit! You’re not! You’re so self-absorbed that you don’t realize what’s going on, even if it’s right in front of your face!” </p>
<p>What?</p>
<p>Sapnap took over. “You’re always riding around on a high horse and massive ego! We’re supposed to trust each other, but you act like you don’t! We don’t even know where you live, and we’ve been friends for years!”</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you guys talking about?! I’m not selfish like that! Of course I trust you! Why wouldn’t I?! And what are you talking about, ‘I think I’m better’?! No I don’t! If anything, I’m worse than any of you!” </p>
<p>“Fuck you!” Sapnap seethed, stomping out of the room.</p>
<p>“Sapnap!” Dream called after him. What was happening? Why?</p>
<p>“Don’t talk to us. Not anymore. It’s you who fucked up this time. Not us.” George walked towards the door, pausing as he gripped the handle. “Goodbye, Clay.” </p>
<p>Techno found him sitting quietly hours later, tears long since dried out. The pinkette had brought him to the bathroom and wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks, offering a hug he desperately needed. </p>
<p>They never spoke of it again, but Dream knew Techno thought about it, always the one to talk to him when no one else would, providing comfort and protection from the outside world.</p>
<p>And Dream will never admit it, but he appreciates Techno more than anyone else.<br/>-<br/><i>He’s not moving anymore. There’s something covering him now, a noise ticking constantly in his brain. </i></p>
<p>
  <i>Tick. Tick. Tick. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He wakes up. </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>expect chapter 5 in the next week or so, hopefully</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fun fact I wasn't even gonna include Schlatt but the idea came to me after a nightmare and I couldn't find it in me to not include it :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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